A King Disarmed
by zzetta13
Summary: Would you like to know more of Varys, confidant of the "Small Council", or maybe more of "The Hound" Sandor Clegane? What of Melisandre, The Red Woman…..This is an attempt to discover more about these people, as well as others. AU back-stories to some of the lesser player, Z.
1. Chapter 1

** A King Disarmed **

**_"Ambitions for the Throne- Chapter 1"_**

Author's note: This is a resubmission of something that was posted a while back. A submission that I hoped would scratch an itch that I had about pursuing a Game of Thrones story work. Well, all I can say is that I got a bit lazy and removed the first posting….. Now however, myself and others have become loyally intrigued by GoT and are enthralled by the creativity of this impressive show.

Here is a new-submission of the work, a bit tweaked to help it fit better into the GoT universe, but the changes may have amounted to 20%.

As always, I will attempt to stay familiar with the series history and what is current in the show, as familiar to canon as I CAN be. Still, I will admit that I rarely post stories without taking liberties to help my imagination and advance the story forward. There will be some familiar characters, and I hope to stay true as to how those individuals would react in certain situations. Also, there are several OC contained within this story work, be warned, and too…. I thank you for reading, Z.

*********************** **_What Has Gone Before ****************_**

Rupert Hearthfield is the Lord over Bodmin, a relatively small conquest in Cornwell (annexed by the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms years ago) and subject to his rule… however there are secrets, words unspoken that remain a pendulum for those who know.

Secrets unspoken may offer the soul who brings them to light notoriety, and a hefty sum of property and money, should they be proven true. However, they could also cause one to have one's head removed and to experience it roll upon the ground, it's just a matter of which way the cutting blade swings?

No one is ever completely safe from the headman's axe. Better to hold still your tongue, then risk speaking out a claim that cannot be proven.

Who would want their neck stretched across the heavy block of an executioner, a block stained with the red liquid of those before who had spoken wrongly?

Whatever the situation, there are some who have learned how to speak the truth, but then, have also learned how to brew fact with fancy, whichever will help them see the sunlight of a new tomorrow. So be the laws of the Powers of Westeros…

**_********************** Bodmin & Manners Keep ***********************_**

Small in its title, Bodmin was but a smudge on the conquest of Westeros…...

A slight kingdom, nary worth a dot on the map, a smear that was hardly noticeable in the halls of the Red Keep much less by anyone who sits upon the Iron Throne.

Located in an area far to the west of King's Landing, the territory was remote, so remote that Bodmin didn't even exist on maps of the territory, or hold mention in the quaint conversations of the nobility of King's Landing. It was, almost to a point, forgotten, and the name of the Lord appointed over its properties, and contributor of the tariffs to the King were hardly spoken of among men of honor (or those less than). The territory has gained no place of registry within the land-grant, and therefore held no importance in the commissions being severed as _Conquest of Gained Lands_, by the map drawers.

However, that being said, the Lord of Bodmin still has ambition, and would peruse the gambling of his birthright, nary stopping his ambition or his own desire for conquest.

At the gaining of Lordship over "Manners Keep", Rupert Hearthfield, for a time was satisfied, yet now it seemed now that he was not happy with the conquest of his origin. For him to gain more favor and influence in King's Landing, he needed to conquer more territory to the west, and south. He sent his brother out to accomplish his will, the Legion Lord Manner.

Such was his to command and such was his to acquire devotion, devotion to their Lord, to give their lives to him, devote themselves body and soul to his cause…Those who would fight and die and bleed to gain properties under the name of the King of Westeros…. and for their Lord Rupert…. still, paying for this conquest was somewhat costly, an expensive endeavor to say the least.

Taxing the people of his land to provide his generals with the finest of horses and equipment was to take from the people what they could not provide. Lord Rupert persuaded his subjects, the people of Bodmin to dip deep into their pockets, their robes, and into the bottoms of their coffers so that he can equip his troops and see to their armament. However, the folk of this domain were becoming weary of their Lord's rule, his taxes, and were tired of supplying their male youth to restore General Bowen's ranks. The General too is growing weary. His brother may be his brother by questionable reason, but in his mind, sacrificing their blood for the throne in King's Landing, to a King, King Joffrey, someone who doesn't even know they exist, well, that is beyond what a Lord should require his people to do, at least this is how Bowen feels about many of his conquest. There is a smell of rebellion in the air, and Bowen may be a part of it himself if his brother does not cease his aspirations…

Be that as it may, Rupert, having learned of secrets, has set his ambition somewhat higher. The Throne of the Seven Kingdoms may show no sign of recognition of this small territory Rupert has conquered, but if he brings the raiding parties of the Torren under control, it may open the eyes of the one sitting upon the Red Throne. This is his goal.

What secrets could a man learn that would sway him to believe that he is owed more than Lordship over a territory? Those secrets may have Rupert thinking that he might be owed the very Throne of the Seven Kingdoms himself….. now finding out that the King Joffrey has died, poisoned upon his wedding day, his ambition grows stronger.

**********************A passage from the Rouge Chronicles ***********************

"Control is a Royal strife,"

"Opinions a King will sway,"

"Pretense he will offer life,"

"When in truth…he takes it away."

*This is a passage from the "Rouge Chronicles" a document published years after this story ends. It contains passages written on dungeon walls by the prisoners of Lord Hearthfield. Script written by victims who felt that they had been imprisoned unfairly and without due…. still, whenever did a Lord, soaked with ambition, ever need permission to chain his subjects, especially when they did not see things his way? The prisoners of "Manner Keep" have little hope of exiting the dungeon alive; still they can state their opinions of the cruelty of their Lord on the walls. A cruelty that many a subject of Lord Hearthfield has suffered, they voice their opinions loudly as they write in their prison cells, however….

There is one man tasked to cleanse those walls, to extinguish the words written on the cold stone of "Manner Keep", to flush them away with buckets of soapy wash as though they never existed, that man's name, Gantwin Gimbal. Gimbal is tasked with removing these words, words that would anger Lord Rupert if he received word of them.

At first the guard had the script removed daily, but the next morning those words were back again (the prisoners using their own dung to replace the words that had been erased the day before). Then the prisoners began carving the script into the masonry itself. This was tougher to remove. The sentinels of the Manner began to allow the works to stay up on the walls until the prisoner's death, then Gantwin would do his cleaning and wash the shit off the walls, literally.

Fact is however, knows the truth of those words. He writes them down in a diary as not to be forgotten and he hopes to publish them when times are better. Yet, he is blown away by what he finds on a wall this day, a tale so profound that his tongue would be removed, or worse the fire of his soul extinguished….. if the Lord was made aware. Still He stumbles to write the words down, casting glances back over his shoulder for the dungeon guard.

Gantwin writes quickly, with such haste that he hopes that he does not leave anything out. It is so good in face that if it proved to be true, he could acquire his own estate in some far off territory with a harem of slave girls.

However, it would be wise to seek some validity rather than posting this where it could be traced back to the source, back to him.

Gantwin Gimbal had survived the RED WEDDING, but only slightly. His throat still retained the scar of that night. However, this may be of importance of stretching it out a little.

END PART 1


	2. Chapter 2

_**A King Disarmed 2**_

"_**Rest be Little-The Red Maiden"**_

Author's note: _**Rest be Little**_ is a story that takes place twenty years before the first posted story works of this chapter arc (A King Disarmed), and the story follows mere days after Cersei giving birth to her first child…..(a Baratheon or a Lannister?). The baby was claimed to have died in infancy, or did it?

Cersei had a multitude of "Bear-Maidens" with her at the course of delivery, delivery of her first born, women who severed the Queen Mother in matters of the heart, and also to help teach her in the sub-servance of husband, and her children (Sired by the Lord of Kings Landing of course), still…

Cersie was told moments after her child's first breathe that her baby had died. That it had not been strong enough to enter into this world. It broke her heart, and sometime later her failure to successfully bring a child into this world had caused her to seek the comfort of another, one who was familiar to her.

Jaime Lannister took his sister in, and was so understanding of her grief that she again, allowed him the fruits of her body.

Brutal is the world when it takes away a woman's first child. Cersei cursed the gods and became a bitter woman, frustrated and unrestricted by boundaries.

During the final days before her baby's birth, she had consulted a seer, a forecaster of forlorn prophecy.

Melisandre would help to serve Cersei before the day when she actually became a mother, yet ALL that the woman had told her had gone astray. Upon delivery…her baby had died… or Cersei was told that he had…..

Now the Red Maiden is taking a trip cross-country, and in her arms she carried a child that no one knew lived, a baby that had survived although it had been claimed not to have.

Varys is taking a woman who has paid him well to transport her (and her cargo) to a place of secrecy, a place of sanctuary… still; his is not to question motive or ambition, but only…..to deliver. A mule be his transport, Varys conveys his tolly….. yet there is nothing that says that, along the way, he cannot ask questions.

_******* Enter Varys *******_

It was getting on late into the day…getting onto evening, and there were only moments of sunlight remaining before it would become too dark…too dark to travel.

There was a man sitting atop a wagon, a wagon taking him along a destined path, a journey known only to himself, and the woman sitting on the wagon-bench beside him.

He gave a crack of the reins across an animal's backside, the backside of the beast which was pulling his cart, hoping to hasten the pace of said animal. However, he soon realized that even with the slap of pain along its ass, the beast could not increase its speed enough to make a difference.

The man did seem a bit sorrowful for pelting the animal, striking a creature that was doing its best that it could, he knew the feeling. Walloping the creature's rump would not help its master (nor said conveyor of cruelty's traveling companion) to reach their destination impressively sooner.

The jolly individual at the wagon reins knew that they still had more than three days to travel before reaching their plotted course and that now, with the moon (only moments away from showing its face), now may be a good time to begin looking for a place to rest their heads, a place to put down for the night. Not that he enjoyed sleeping under the stars….that type of living was usually compatible for beggars and mercenaries, and sleeping on the ground, in the cold and the damp, Varys had experienced that before, as a child, and he was presented ill memories of those day, and so, would not enjoy doing it again. Still he must do what he must do.

Being caught on the road at night, especially in unfamiliar territory, could be hazardous to one's health; Still Varys knew the risk he was taking (escorting the Red Maiden to a location that she hoped would provide refuge for her child, to keep him safe and also, from the knowledge of others. A destination that she hoped no one would ever learn about, or know the truth, until revealed).

Varys looked at the woman….she was holding the child, wrapped in swaddling clothing, a garment to keep him warm and comfortable, she may have also wanted him (Varys) to think that the baby was hers, yet he suspected that the child was not of her womb….. but that the infant had been born of higher nobility.

The Red Maiden had been a handmaiden of Cersei, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she had been present when the Queen had delivered her first child.

Although the Queen Mother (Cersei) could not be sure if the father of her baby be one, Robert Baratheon, or Jaime Lannister, she would still love it, and raise it to…. one day be King. However, soon after delivery, the child was proclaimed to be still-born.

Cersei was horrified… what mother ever wished that her first infant be dead? She was distraught, unable to think.

Melisandre had proclaimed to Cersei that it was in the gods will, that her first child not be raised upon this earth. That it was destine for another reign... still that did not quench the Queen's heart...

The Queen Mother banished Melisandre from Kings Landing. Melisandre could take her Lord, and her God with her….Never to set foot into the Capital again…..but Melisandre had other plans….

Cerseis' baby would be used in another play... a play unknown to more of those of Wsetoros...

Melisandre smiled when she glanced over at Varys…. little did he know the true nature of his mission? A mission that went well beyond his grasp. A prophecy that still bewildered her even... yet Melisandre felt that in time, she would be one of the few recognized by the, _**Power of Light.**_ She stood ready to relinquish her soul...

END PART 2


	3. Chapter 3

_**A King Disarmed 3**_

"_**The Scarlet Princess"**_

The Scarlet Princess, the Red Woman, The Red Witch, the Bloody Bitch…she had been known by many names, all fit to her liking, and all having helped to convey a mystique that she desired, and too, had helped her to elevate herself to goddess stature. Melisandre is a woman difficult to decipher, and what's even more, near impossible to control…..

Melisander,"The priestess", has her way, and seems hell-bent to get what she wants.

Author's note: Re-watching the first season of GoT, I noticed that during a rather honest, yet rare, discussion between Cersei and Robert Baratheon, the two seemed almost cordial, more compassionate towards one another than at any other time. Also too, the Queen made mention of a child born to her that did not live, a baby whom had died at birth or during infancy. I actually felt myself feeling sad. This story arc investigates the idea that said child did not perish at birth, but may have lived, and been taken away to be exploited later…..what do you think?

Varys held little love for the House of Lannister. If 'Kings landing" had taken a poison pill it would have been no worse than accepting the rule of the House of Lannister. Even now he was using his "little birds" to reveals their secrets. Information was power, and long ago Varys had learned that power, as such, could be just as effective as a double edged sword.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, a tout of philosophy that the bald man has come to see as great words of wisdom…

_******* Vargas Meets Varys *******_

Vargas Merion was a man, a slight man, not very impressive across the shoulders and not heavily muscled of arm, even in his youth he had been small of stature…..yet he had taken many a breath of this world…..and lived long enough to see old age.

The reason for this being that Vargas, however frail looking a creature, did wheeled a mighty weapon, a weapon that had protected him well enough to allow him to live so long a time (even in such a cruel land as Westros). This weapon, this mighty agent of protection, the one he brandished whenever possible, was his brain. His brain and its ability to store information.

Some men live by their sword, and some their ability to command, Vargas held a sharpness of wit and a proficiency of keeping and telling secrets.

Vargas was smart and cunning, shrewd one could say and he had used information to save his neck, not only from the executioner's axe, but also from the lynch-man's noose. Too, Vargas had used his wit to save himself from a sword through the belly many times. However his true feat, his future mastery had begun after he'd met-up with a man named Varys (the Spider) and had become one of his "song birds".

Years ago Vargas had met Varys on the road to Bodmin (actually the two men were traveling in opposite directions), and the initial groups they were traveling with had only crossed paths for a single night. However to increase security, adding to their number to make their flock seem bigger, the separate groups had joined to camp together. Not that Varys looked as if he could add much protection, he had not the look of a combatant, well maybe he could with words but not a sword, however, his size did seem to make him more of a threat than the smaller Vargas.

Anyway, Vargas and his group didn't actually need Varys' protection. Vargas had been traveling in a team of four men (which number had included himself), and the other three, all master swordsmen and very capable of traveling through such hostile territory alone, had banded together, their destination, "Kings Landing", to look for employment. Vargas had joined them and, had actually paid them to keep from getting his throat cut.

The "Master of Secrets" (as Vargas was to be referred to in the future) had learned the three other men's names. One of them was named Augustus, another, Ofar, and finally the most threatening of the group was named Sandor Clegane (who would later become known as the Hound).

The four men had come upon one another on their journey and bonded as a traveling agent before falling upon the two individuals, Varys and a mysterious lady that Vargas only knew as "the Red Woman".

At first it seemed that the two strangers were linked together by child, a newborn, maybe out of wedlock, and Varys seemed to be taking the woman and her baby to Bodmin for safe keeping, sanctuary, however, more would be discovered later. Anyway…..

In the beginning Sandor wanted to cut their throats and to take any coin that they may be in their possession, but Vargas had swayed him otherwise. It seemed that the woman was some kind of priestess, and as damming a sin as it would be, killing a holy woman, the perpetrator of murdering one with child could send one's soul to the deepest hell's pits imaginable, upon one's death.

Vargas had convinced Sandor, and the others not to complete the killing, besides, for all his rough façade, Sandor held a soft spot for children (maybe something from his own youth), so murdering a woman with a baby may have certainly been against his chivalrous code, as shallow as THAT may seem.

Vargas was looking to gather information from the two. Traveling from Kings Landing, they surely must be up to date on the happenings in the Capital of Westeros? They would know the current climate for employment opportunities and if it were worth traveling to such a place?

Vargas did find out something very quickly… from his questions.

"So, what is a man of your definite position doing traveling with his wife on such a dark evening and in such a wicked area of Westeros," Vargas asked of Varys? "Must be something of an urgent nature to have you tempt something so adventurous?"

Varys looked at Vargas (as they sat around the campfire, just the two of them, the others were either asleep, meddling with the horses or sharpening their swords, whatever the case, Varys and Vargas were alone. Even Melisandre seemed to be preoccupied with the child in her care), the light of a low burning fire between them, and the play of shadows across his face. The creepiness made the big bald man look even more mysterious.

Varys knew that the failed one, was using a "hook" to gather information, and he decided to give Vargas a smidgen of the truth rather than the full-on brimful Intel of his mission.

"She is not my wife, she is my sister…." He spoke in an almost matter-of-factly manner. Which certainly was a lie, but at this point each man did not know the other so well. Better to reveal a small lie, rather than express a full one, or expose the full truth.

The night was young and full of terrors…

END PART 3


	4. Chapter 4

_**A King Disarmed 4**_

"_**The Road to Bodmin"**_

Author's note: Salutations to fan-fic readers…..

As per my style (that is, if I have one) I would say that I am writing this work as an expression of my own thoughts, my own ideas. I am a person that like, so many GoT fans, has become captivated by the show, and after each episode, I want to add more to its mystique. I find that I can satisfy my itch by creating my own _AU_ source of GoT.

I am a person that likes to explore the back-stories of certain characters, of certain individuals, and not necessarily those of the main cast, but the exploration of those who are waiting in the wings, in the shadows. Explore the back-stories of characters that have tales to tell, but yet, are the backdrop of the main story. However, be that as it is… these are of my own creation and have only hints of being within canon of the show. The rights belong to the owners and I tip-my-hat to their creative talents. I thank them for allowing me to indulge my spirit, my gratitude.

Anyhoo, the escapism and entertainment of "_Game of Thrones_" has inspired me not only to be a fan, but also to attempt to create stories that are viable to fit within the GoT realm. Hope that this story is successful in that regard. My appreciation to all whom are keeping abreast…..Z

_******* Morning….on the Road to Bodmin *******_

Varys awoke with a startle…

From his lying position on the ground he arose to his elbows and looked around.

Morning drew covered the ground and the forest trees and woodland grasses (which had surrounded their encampment during the night and aligned the nearby road), seemed to be encased in a thick veil of fog. Just enough mist in the air to keep one's eye from traveling too distant from where one stood, or had slept (in Varys case)…..it allowed a bit of mystery to what lay beyond.

Anyway, Varys had slept somewhat leisurely, or rather; a better term for his slumber may have been _un-restfully_, not realizing a deep sleep the past night before. He had had restless nights in the past, but those were usually made more comfortable with a roof over his head. The previous night he had felt ill at ease closing both eyes at the same time (during the wee of the witching hour), which would explain the heavy bags which remained under his sockets upon awakening. However, who could blame him for such a restless slumber?

Sleep had evaded him in said regard because Varys was not only transporting a woman with a mysterious cargo, but he had also bedded down with strangers met along their trail.

Melisandre's precious bundle was a baby, there was no secret to that, however "The Lady of the Light" had not revealed to him the full truth of her mission; therefore Varys remained at odds as to the genuine nature of what was going on.

She had paid him well, and in this regard, had hoped to curtail any questions that he may have. However Varys was not your average smuggler, he knew that questions asked could be also information gained, he was not your low-lingering scowl of lawless intent, no. For some time now, he had been attempting to gain an introduction to council, the small council. A position that would award him a noble purse, and a respectable title, regardless of birth.

The Witch Queen, whom although professed the favor of the _Light_, was seemingly embracing the Lord of Darkness, her religion cultivating the more sinister side of true faith rather than the _Light_ that it claimed to be serving.

Transporting a child of noteworthy birth (even more than Varys knew) was ill conceived by Varys, and he meant not to sit still and allow a child to be sacrificed to whatever Lord the woman worshiped. The baby was innocent, and needed to be protected, even to the point of one offering up one's own life.

This held him in somewhat of a turmoil, a question remaining in his quest of what to do. Sure he could entice the band of strangers that had they had settled with to force The Red Woman to reveal the true identity of the infant, but then all of them would know, and that scenario played out less well than him attempting to discover the linage of the child on his own. Such knaves may kidnap the child, hold it for ransom, and in the meantime execute him and Melisandre as well. In the company of cut-throats who could tell what such men would do?

Having survived the darkness, without a red-ribbon cut across his neck, Varys supposed that his fears had been unjustified. Should they had wished to have ended him, then he would be dead by now.

Hearing a sound nearby the bald man turned his head slightly to the right. There he noticed the man calling himself "Clegane" arranging the saddle on his horse, a few feet away. The fellow pulled on a leather strap, cinching it tightly across the animal, and the beast winched in a sign of discomfort. However Clegane seemed to care little about the animal's discomfort, as Varys assumed that he care little for anything living that he came across.

Clegane carried a scar upon the right side of his face, and the history behind this disfigurement may have been the cause for his bitter scowl and seemly cruel nature. Whatever the case, Varys thanked the gods that the man had stayed his impulses, impulses that whispered to the bald man that if they had been murdered by someone during the night, then likely this fellow would have been the guilty party, the one to commit such a dastardly deed. Varys could see the disdain in the man's eyes, as Sandor stood next to his horse staring at him….. then a thin smile suddenly creased the swordman's lips….

"Sleep well?"

Varys felt a little uneasy with the question. Not that at _face value_ it was a question of unpleasantness, but the way it was spoken told him that Clegane was making jest with him. That the sleep Varys had enjoyed during the night could easily have been one of eternal sleep, and that his neck in the morning could have mirrored the color of the Ruby-Throated Swallow, who was singing its song out in the distance.

Varys placed his hand to his throat, as if checking for a wound, but of course, there was none. If his throat had been cut then would he be living to investigate it now? It was silly of him to show such a display of gullibility. Varys usually kept himself composed and was rarely rattled, or mostly presented himself that way. He purposely took note to keep from looking startled. Even when dealing with that brothel owner Petyr Baelish , Varys kept a calm demeanor. He was a man who had learned years ago that sweat, or showing signs of discomfort, caused people in his business to know that they had put you on edge.

On the playing field of politics the face was a façade, and the body an arena. Body posture and emotions shown across the face allowed someone to know what you were feeling, and sometimes, what you were thinking. Therefore Varys knew that if one looked upon his face or studied his posture, that individual must remain in question of his true intent. Life was a game, and those who learned how to play it well were those who could progress their legacy in the historic chronicles.

Varys was a man not of the desire for wealth, nor honor, but an individual that hoped to witness the whole of humanity advance into the next century. He knew what hell was like, he had experienced it as a child (his manhood taken away for the gratification of some sick bastard who pleasured himself over the torture of children).

Yes Varys knew hell, and his hope was to not experience it again, nor have any innocent suffer as he had. So, for whatever reason the Red Woman was smuggling the infant (?) he meant to discover her secret.

Hailing from Essos, Melisandre seemed to be a missionary for her faith, a faith little known to the country of Westeros, she had come to begin her teachings in Kings Landing and had been brought aboard as a handmaiden to Queen Cersei because the Queen had the desire that her first child should have every advantage upon the taking of its first breath, even one afforded by religion. Upon the baby's death at infancy, Melisandre had been expelled from the Queen's side, and fearing execution had escaped (with the help of Varys). Now, with her baby in her arms, the Red Priestess was headed for a new home, a new place of sanctuary for the child, Bodmin.

_************* The Deep Sleep *************_

Sandor Clegane looked at the man whom he'd linked up with to continue their journey towards Kings landing.

Vargas had said his farewells to Varys and the Red Woman, as the cart they were traveling in, pulled by their beast of burden, faded into the mist, yet each man had delivered the other into his confidence…..each telling the other a secret. This had started a friendship which had lasted years, and Vargas had become one of Varys' "little birds".

Varys had told Vargas that in reality, the woman at his side was not his sister, and also, that the baby was not his, and could never be. He had explained that he had lost his male facility as a youth and was destined to sire no children, boy or girl. Vargas was surprised, however he countered with his own secret, that there was noble blood running through his veins, however, downcast, he would not reveal the origin of that bloodline.

The two parted knowing a little more about the other and now as Vargas came face to face with Sandor, the two men discussed the continuation of their travels.

"Augustas and Ofar have been asleep a long while now, shouldn't we wake them and continue onward to the Capital," Vargas asked of the swordsman standing next to him?

Sandor gazed over at the frail man…..

"They have been delivered to the _sleep eternal," he spoke, "..._ and will not be joining us upon our venture," Clegane ended his words. The swordsman then pulled out two small purses from his pocket and placed them into a bag upon his mount, "best you choose one of their horses. The one you've been sitting upon looks weak, nary even able to carry the weight of man even such as yourself."

Vargas was shocked. He ran over to the two men and discovered that their throats had been cut. He looked up with total disgust and horror at the man who stood facing him just a few feet away.

"So this was their destiny as will be mine, to kill us on the trail after robbery, and then to go after Varys and the woman and murder them also…..and what of the baby, death also, or to be sold at auction to a wealthy childless couple in the Landing?"

Sandor viewed the man with a bit of lavish humor.

"Murderer," he spoke, "I am no child killer, although selling a baby to a noble family might prove profitable, and better for the child, however that was not my intention," he paused a moment in the manner of studying Vargas…..

"No, and you shouldn't consider me a killer, but your savior," Sandor glanced at the two bodies that would remain where they lay, "those two were scheming to kill all of you, and they had included me in their plan. When I refused to go along there were whispers spoken, and I assure you that my neck would have been as red as yours if I hadn't acted first. So, instead of a cursing, I should be getting a word of gratitude from you," Clegane said, "or an appreciation of coin."

Sandor looked at him…..

"If you're going to continue on with me, you'd better mount up quickly, or if you want to travel back to Bodmin, you'd better find Varys," Sandor paused and looked up into the misty sky, "Once this fog clears it will be only a matter of time before the birds of death find those two, not a pretty sight to behold I would think," Clegane finished, then mounted his horse. He turned the beast towards Kings Landing, not waiting for Vargas to join him.

END PART 4


	5. Chapter 5

_**A King Disarmed 5**_

"_**The Dark Knight"**_

Author's note: The beginning sub-title to this work is named "The Blue Wedding" and as such, it may be a reason for me, as the teller of this tale, to elaborate on why it has been named such….

The _Blue Wedding_ refers to the celebration of King Joffery Baratheon, Ruler over the Seven Kingdoms and monarch upon the Iron Throne, and a time when happiness and evil came to him on the same day.

_******* The Blue Wedding *******_

Yes, King Joffery, Boy/King was fabled to have rallied his troops to win victory over Stannis Baratheon (his father's brother) at the _**Battle of the Blackwater**_, and he was in line for a fine future, a future which included a beautiful wife, his queen, and possibly many other things. However, the day of his wedding feast there came dark clouds gathering in the heavens, and the young king fell victim to jealousy, the jealousy and cruelty of his own uncle. Poisoned, as he presented a toast to the same man, the man who had assisted him in said battle, the King turned blue, as blue as an oyster in Blackwater Bay.

It was little known of Joffery's cruelty, outside the walls of the Red Keep, and should slander get out that he was the sadistic creation of an ill-conceived union, a bastard bred and well suited for the horrors which he performed on both subject and foe alike, well, claims as such weren't safe for any man to speak of, even should they be shouted from the top the Great Wall guarding the north.

Anyway there may have been a vacuum created by the King's death, a void that could be filled if the right person stepped up soon enough to make claim.

Although the heartless King has a younger brother in line for the crown, it may be some time before he was ready to achieve it. In the meantime the throne may be up for grabs, if someone was smart enough and bold enough to stake claim to the power, and had something of noble blood running through their veins.

Rupert Hearthfield has been informed of Joffery's death, and had heard whispers for some time now that his mother, the woman who'd raised him and proclaimed that he and his brother had been born to her on the same day, may actually not be his birth-mother after all. It was whispered that he may hold more claim to the crown than even Tommen.

Rupert meant to find out more about this.

_******* The Knight is Dark & Fills You With Terror *******_

Rupert Hearthfield and Bowen Hearthfield were brothers, born of the same mother on the same day (Merriam Hearthfield), or so it had been claimed. However, they were fraternal not identical. Even in all, Bowen felt that he came in second to his brother, born only moments after Rupert the two had become separated at birth, one being raised as to become Lord of the realm while the other, Bowen, being more or less schooled in the way of combat and becoming a warrior.

At first it did not test the younger Hearthfield's reason. His was a life of adventure and swordplay, of sparing partners and friendship with boys his age seeking of skills read about of the men in the Book of Kings. However, after a time Bowen began to notice that his brother was receiving the same accolades as himself, without accomplishing the same goals.

There were ceremonies and awards given to Rupert as master over the long-sword whenever Bowen had never seen him pick up a sword in his life. Also, it seemed that HE, was being groomed for battle whenever Rupert sat all day writing poetry, or conversed with the seers about the constellations of stars in the heavens.

One day Rupert was knighted and it sent Bowen into an aggravated frenzy because the knighthood came before his own. After that, there were young men and boys brought to the Manner Keep's courtyards. There were private tutorials being conducted, and although Bowen was not allowed inside, he could hear the ringing of metal on metal in the struggle of combat. He also noticed that as each man left, the purse at his side did seem to be a bit heavier. Was his brother receiving lessons of swordsmanship after the fact?

He knew that Rupert was being groomed for Lordship over Manner Keep and Bodwin, and to Rule over the territory of Cornwell, also, for this, as Lord he was to send much of their tax dollars to Kings Landing and the Red Keep, and too, to acquire new lands and new subjects to the west, all political hog-wash as for as Bowen could tell, yet the younger brother was put in charge of filling the ranks of the future Lord's army.

At the highest point, Lord Rupert's army numbered about eighty men, but with the taming of hostiles and the constant savagery of barbarian raiding parties his troops had dwindled down to fifty. That however did not keep Rupert from desiring and wanting more; he began to draft younger men into his service.

Since he was a commander only in name, never leading his men in the lead of a charge, he had become secretly known as the Dark Knight, and any question to his rule or his commands either led to one being thrown into the pits beneath Manner Keep, or to the gallows, so men, and women, held their tongue from speaking ill of their Lord, at least around strangers.

Screams could be heard coming from the dungeons of Manner Keep and if the townsfolk knew anything, it was good that those screams were not coming from them. Those prison cells were filled with terror, and horrors most unimaginable.

Now, at this time the citizens of Bodwin were looking for someone to step up, to relieve them of the ill-fated Lord. But those ideas were only spoken of in whispers, however, the whispers and secret knowledge of the Manner may quick come to light, sooner than the Ruler/Knight Lord Rupert was ready for.

END PART 5


	6. Chapter 6

_**A King Disarmed 6**_

"_**Gantwin Gimbal-Laying Low"**_

From the Author: Hello fellow FF-readers….my appreciation goes out to any whom are staying up with this story work, have left reviews (thank you Loyaldeer), and are keeping abreast of this work. This chapter digs a little deeper into some of the OC creations of this story venture.

As told earlier, I noticed that Cersie did mention to her husband, Robert, that the first child (cast within her womb), did not survive, and that it was a sad occasion (I think it may have been in episode 3 of the first season (?).

Anyway, whether that child was cultured from the seed of Robert Baratheon, or from another (of a more forbidden union) it was a soul of ill manner, the victim of a body ill born of consequence... conceived from an improper union, that first misfire, that first conception, was none other than the prelude to one...Joffery Baratheon, yet said heritage of the child was never disclosed. WHAT was told, was that the baby did not live much past a few breaths…(an event which always allows doors to remain open to _Fan-Fic creators_ l as myself).

Now, a curiosity has reared its evil head, was Cersie responsible for her first childs death, a conception of which she felt guilt over and wished to extinguish (taking poison to ensure that the new life within her belly did not precede much beyond birth?), or was the infant just destined _NOT_ to remain of this world? Therein lies the question, and also is part of what this continuing story arc may be based upon.

(Harsh is a universe that will not allow an infant to experience life, no matter what its gene pool)

Now, to add more fuel to the fire, reading about the _Red Wedding_, it was brought to my attention that from the wikia as stated, "_that most of his (Robb Stark's) bannermen and men-at-arms_" were killed at the feast of the _Red Wedding_, the key word here being MOST, but not all. Gantwin Gimbal is an OC creation of my own work, and as such is a character of my own mending, and someone I hope that will progress the interest of this story work?

I hope to write said character(s), and keep the canon of the show as close as possible as to the introduction of new characters. Although this is fan-fik creation (and I write a lot of such influences), is a figment of my own substance, I always want to remain as much within the realm of possibility as probable. That is my goal and my intention, and I deeply thank you for reading, Z

_******* Laying Low *******_

Gantwin Gimbal, scrubber of prison walls, and keeper of secrets as told by some of those very same walls, was making his way through the narrow, shadowy, cobblestone streets of Bodwin. Some of which would barely allow a single cart to pass along their path, much less two carts hailing side by side.

It was nighttime and dark, extremely dark, as conveyed by a quarter-lit moon up above, however this only seemed to increase Gant's feeling of security, and it pleased him that it was so.

The single survivor, of what had come to be chronicled as "The Red Wedding", Gant could ill afford another tempt at fate. His throat had been cut during the feast, being that he was one of the bannermen of Lord General Robb Stark at the time, yet the wound had been shallow enough to allow him to survive.

His had been among the bodies which had been toted out and tossed atop a cleansing pyre, to be burned along with many of the feast goers, however he had rolled down from the crest and had failed to be fully doused with oil. The flame alit, did not scorch his body, and he was able to crawl away and make his escape unnoticed.

Now, fear of being branded as a coward haunted him, or being hunted down for any number of reasons, and he was ill prepared to chance another occurrence at having a blade pass along his throat. That instance may prove to be more fatal this time.

Still, with all that had happened, he remained unready to be the cleanser of shit off of prison walls…forever (?) if he allowed it. He had made a discovery…..a discovery that may prove to afford him a better life, a life in a palace with a cast of harem girls. It was a good to dream, but Gant didn't place his faith in dreams; he placed them in being astute, and in the reality of having cold, hard, coin within his purse or fingers.

With the divulgence of the information he'd learned from the dungeon (in the fashion of a poem), his hope was to maybe acquire a better life, a better existence, however, the information must be delivered to someone with the right means, someone who would know and be able to interpret said writings, and also, be willing to reward him with enough _tender_ to allow him to rent a hut, and maybe provide him a single concubine to assist in his needs (and desires).

Gantwin had made mention of having information to share, and as spoken in a local tavern, it was none other than to the individual who was the proprietor, the owner, Craig Madison.

Craig had had many such indulgence of information offered, such secrets. Usually drunk, their world-shattering Intel would not cease as long as he kept filling their goblet with ale, free ale to be exact. Most of their secrets was information which was of ill importance, not more than to spread gossip of whom their neighbor's wife was bedding (while their husbands were at work) or who the bastard children running around town may be, knowledge that was mostly of little consequence or offered little to his coffers. However, Craig was a man of opportunity, and quickly discovered that he could turn the tables and make a little coin himself in this regard. For the price of a copper or two, he would tell said patron that if his information were of value, and bold enough to launch war ships onto the _Pond of Valor, _that he could arrange a meeting for them with the _Master of Whispers_, a man that was rumored to have extra coin and was interested in such matters.

If they were willing to divulge their information to him, and that it was of importance, then Craig promised that this fellow would cough up the shiny metal, pay well for their said information.

Craig knew Vargas Merion, yet the local merchant's name was never mentioned.

Gantwin had agreed, and now he was hobbling down the back alleys and darkened streets of Bodmin looking for the secret spot where he and this person were to make a rendezvous.

Gantwin, as a matter of deception, cast himself as a drunk, and a man well suited for cleaning human feces off of dungeon enclosures. However Gant was no idiot, not by any means, he was a man that used his senses. Well versed with a sword and well-mannered in its use, Gant was a person that proceeded with caution, with restraint whenever pursuing ventures such as this. He knew that the tavern owner may be setting him up, still he wanted to speak his piece.

As he wandered the streets of Bodmin, he patrolled with a sharp double-edged blade under his tunic, and too, and tight mesh of chain-mail covered his throat. He'd had had his neck slit once, a deed in which he did not wish to repeated.

Gantwin had been among the troop-guard at the Red Feast celebrating the marriage of Edmure Tully to Roslin Frey, a wedding ceremony which, in the future, he would remember to regret. At the party he had noticed something peculiar. The wine and ale had a bit of a tang to it, a sweetness of the berry and brew that left an ill taste in his mouth, something of which was undoubtedly different than other times he had partook of the drink. This made him curious and had him caution his celebration. He had put down his goblet and proceed with drinking crystal clear stream water instead of the vineyard. Such a decision had saved his life.

Gant's reflexes had not been so dulled and imperatively sluggish as to those of his brother's when the massacre of _Frey Hall _had began. He had remained more astute and capable of evading his assailant's blade as it ringed his neck. Still he felt the red ripple of blood dripping down his throat as it sprayed its ruby essence out onto the table and onto the floor as he dropped to the cobblestone.

Gant had been kicked in the head with a boot, and left for dead as the essence of his soul drain out...onto the hard surface, the red of his blood mixing with the red of the wine pooling into every crevasse, filling every crack to overflowing. He watched as his Lord and Lady were hacked to pieces, a death deserving of no man or woman, no matter the insult.

Gant lay there, the sight registering into his brain as to the surreal. The Queen's belly, being cut apart and the Lord, General Stark and his mother, Lady Catelyn, destroyed before his eyes. Those images burned deep into his soul, and would remain there for a lifetime.

Gantwin Gimbal was not only a man out looking to gain coin, but also person wishing to regain his soul.

END PART 6


	7. Chapter 7

_**A King Disarmed 7**_

"_**The Dark holds Secrets, but then, so does the Light"**_

Author's note: Gantwin meets up with a person who can shed light on things, some things which have remained in the dark a long time. However, Gant can spread a little enlightenment of his own

Vargas Merion- Master of Secrets.

_******* The Dark holds Secrets, but then, so does the Light *******_

Gantwin Gimbal, walking the darkened streets of Bodim, was looking for a mysterious man, a man, that it may prove profitable to disclose his secret to. He stopped at a narrow crossroads where two cobblestone alleyways intersected and which were lined with two-story shops and dwellings along its sides.

The night seemed darker here, with nary the light of the moon finding its way to the cold stone below. He heard a sound come from one of the deep impressions which was the inset to a candle shop.

"Hello my friend …..What brings you out on such a damp and deep night?"

Gant reached for the weapon held beneath his tunic, not to bring it into play mind you, however only to assure himself that it was there, in case it was needed later.

"The night is dark, and filled with feathers," he said to the man, of which didn't make sense he knew, but when dealing in surreptitious messages and clandestine operations, code words and silly phrases didn't have to make sense, they only needed to get you what you wanted.

Soon a man emerged from the shadows, a man slim of build, yet dressed in the attire of someone who lived comfortably in this community, a community of poor families and poverty viewed on every street corner. This confirmed to Gant that, just as in the big cities, the small towns and villages had their share of wealthy individuals who lived above the poverty and gutter-wash that aligned the streets, those who, in the morning could decide whether for breakfast they should have berries and grapes rather than sliced apples.

The man entered the street and met up with him.

"My name is Vargas, just Vargas, and I know you as Gant," he spoke, "I hear that you have information for me, come, let us talk in a more private setting shall we?"

Gant followed the man to a more secluded area, an area where a sheltered wagon lay in wait tethered to the dark beast of an animal, a horse. The beast whinnied as the two climbed aboard the sheltered cart, and it exhausted a deep release of air from its nostril's, the noise not so deep as to awaken any souls in slumber, up in their beds above the street, but only to show that it realized the added weight upon its body, as the men moved back into the dark, under the canvas. It was then that Gant realized that there was a figure standing up the street, only feet away, a big figure, with an intimidating silhouette. The man was heavily muscled and wearing dark clothing combined with a dark hood, the total opposite of Vargas sitting in the cart with him. The Master of Secrets realized that Gant had discovered his bodyguard and made a reply….

"That is Melane, his is not here to threaten or intimidate you. He is only here to see that you haven't come to rob me. In my line of work, one must always remain prepared," Vargas said. "So what is it of such importance that you wake me from my bed at night?"

"Well, as you know my name is Gant, my occupation…."

"Shit cleaner off of prison walls, I know Mr. Gantwin…..it is my business to know, just as I know that you are a survivor of the fabled "Red Wedding", which you wish to keep hidden. However rest assured, your secret is safe with me, now, on to what you've come for, and if it's worth my time and effort? If it proves true you will be rewarded with better living quarters and a slave girl to see to your needs."

Gant felt a bit uneasy, not threatened, but uneasy as to if this man knew so much already, then was he about to expose something that was already known to him? Was he wasting both their time and their energy?

"Well, as the custodian of the Lord of Manner Keep's underground vaults (Gant had chosen a more pleasant term to use rather than dungeon monitor) I am tasked to wash the smear of vulgar things written about said Lord off of those walls. Just this past day I came upon a writing produced in the manner of a poem, a poem that if deciphered correctly, certainly may disclose more about Bodmin and this province than first meets the eye," Gant stopped here, to see if this was something of interest to the Master of Secrets….it seemed to be.

'Well," Vargas asked, "what were said words…..?"

The poem reads like this…..

"_Although the peaks of Lady Hearthfield have seen better times at best,_

_Of the two infants who have come from her womb, only one be truly from her nest,_

_The other be a bastard child whom into her care was handed,_

_The beast of an unholy union, arriving years ago from Kings Landing,"_

Gant looked at Vargas…..

"So, what do you make of it?"

The old man looked at his informant.

"Speaks to me of an impostor sitting upon the seat of the Lord of Manner Keep, and makes sense of a time years ago whenever I came upon two travelers on their way to this town, one, who has become a dear friend of mine, Varys, of the Small Council in the Capital, and another, The Red Woman. It is said that the Red Priestess is a witch, that she controls the brain of a man that presents himself as rightful heir of the Iron Throne, one Stannis Baratheon. She has turned his ear and was the influence behind his attempts to take the crown by force.

Her name is Melisandre my spies tell me, and she ferries from across the narrow sea. She meant to bring her religion to Kings Landing, but was driven away by Queen Cersei, now it seems that her quest has not faltered. Professor of the Lord of Light she deals in dark magic and spells that can steal a man's soul. It was rumored that she birthed a demon once, which assisted in Stannis in defeating his brother, Renly, for a play for the kingdom. Years ago she was en-root here with a child, but I was away at the Capital at that time, and lost track of her. Maybe she moved on to other things, but left the child here to remain with Lady Heathfield, as the poem does describe and bring into question."

Vargas stopped and Gant heard the rattle of coin in his pocket. He brought out a small purse and delivered it into Gant's hand.

"There is enough here to get you a modest hut over on the east side of town, and a girl. Actually I have one who arrived today and was in need of secret lodging. She can stay there with you for now. I know little about her, only that she fares from Kings Landing and it is held in my confidence to keep her safe. Her name..."

And Vargas fumbled here trying to recall that name..." OH yes, is Shae, and I do insist that you treat her well."

END PART 7


	8. Chapter 8

_**A King Disarmed 8**_

"_**Secrets"**_

Author's note: Lady Louvier is a woman of mystery and deceit, having fled from a city where she was forced to evacuate; she still holds a grudge and a sense of regret for being made to leave. There is a seed existing within her essence, a plan not necessarily to get revenge, but to get even. She was given an option when fleeing the city, whether by boat or by land, she chose the latter, for now. Yet as smart as this Lady is, she has no idea the strings Tyrion pulled to keep his beloved safe.

Shae is an intelligent girl, yet naive at the same time. She has no idea the tortures she would endure should it be discovered that she is Tyrion's true love.

Cersei may seem as a docile Queen to the masses, she is a however, no less a resentful and revengeful mother, as to any who have lost a child in combat, and to this, she sees the fight against her younger brother as just that, combat.

Tyrion has drawn the battle lines, the war trenches as she sees it. She is hard pressed to see her younger brother's head upon a spike. And if Jamie doesn't get his act together, he may witness the same.

"_Ill be the emotion of a woman scorn, but HELL be the price to pay for a mother who can find revenge at the loss of a child, a loss where she can vent her anger…."_

Cersei is out to get Tyrion, no matter what the cost, and ill be the fate of anyone that would let him escape, or set him free. She is a woman that can see nothing but hatred at this point, sad as that may be.

In the meantime Tyrion has sent Shea away, to shield her from harm. Still, she curses the youngest of the Lannister children for treating her such as a common whore. She has found refuge in a town far away, but Shae, having the mindset of a woman scorn, is wondering if her beloved sent her away so that he could consummate his marriage (to Sansa). She knows the little Lord almost better than he knows himself, yet she is still in question as to whether he would sacrifice their relationship in order to sire a child of noble birth, THAT, be her predicament.

Tyrion may be small in stature, but big in ambition. Will that ambition include her?

At this point Shae finds herself vulnerable, she is emotionally distressed and weak to another's charms, but will she be pressed to reveal that weakness, it would be a way of getting even with Tyrion...Enter Gantwin Gimbal.

_******* Enter Lady Louvier *******_

Gantwin Gimbal or Gant as he had come to be known by the few folks in town that knew him, had just increased his position in Bodmin, not that he had changed jobs, he still ranked among the lowly sewer cleaners as far as prestige was concerned, neither had he risen above the individuals that swept the vomit off the streets and into the gutters, _Thoroughfare Sanitizer_ he had heard one of the drunken sots call himself (humor did not evade the downcast. No matter what one's roll in life was, in the social order of things, there could always be something found to make jest, which included the mocking of Kings, Lords and nobles, by their subjects, well at least behind their backs).

Anyway Gant had new living quarters, and supposable a slave girl should be arriving soon to see to his needs, and he did have needs. He hadn't been with a woman, one that he had spent the sum of a whole night with, since before the _Red Wedding_, and he felt due for a little celebration himself. But until she arrived he would make busy scouting out his new environment, his new dwelling.

"_Nice, very nice…_," Gant thought to himself.

Sleeping in one of the vacant prison cells, below Manner Keep, did have its benefits. Awakening in the morning, one did not have to rush to get to work, one was already there. However, the stench was almost unbearable, and the noise, the sound of someone moaning or being tortured during the night, kept bags under his eyes. This place certainly would afford him better sleep.

Just then there came a whispered knock upon his door.

"Who is it…who should be calling at this hour?" Gant questioned before opening the portal.

"A service to you sir…,"

It was a man's voice, an older man.

"I'm here to deliver the second of the _Master Secret's_ gifts to you. If you don't want her, then I can surely find something to do with her myself, this pretty child," the voice stopped, but then was followed by a rather lavish snicker.

"No, no I will open up for you," Gant said.

He opened the door and was faced with an old shriveled face…with snow white hair and a beard to match. The fellow looked frail, worst then Vargas even, and the staff in his right hand looked as if it were being used to hold himself up. His garb was of white linen, turned yellow and brown from days of un-wash, it was apparent….still the old fellow had a decent smile, and there was no ill intent registered within his eyes.

The old man turned to view the figure of a woman standing behind him, only a few feet away, and Gant followed his gaze. White was her robe also, but certainly more clean, having seen the pounding of rock out in some cleansing steam maybe only that morning.

The cleaner of dungeon walls was impressed with her figure, certainly not unpleasant to anyone's eye, any male who had not been witness to so beautiful, and so smooth such curves for a while now. However, there was one doubt remaining, her face was veiled as to not reveal her features. It stopped Gant from immediately allowing them entrance. Was there a flaw to her countenance? Had this angelic figure been cursed with an unimaginable face, or maybe a dastardly scar interrupting her facial structure?

Sometimes fathers in the farmlands beat their daughters into the submission of their will, using them like slaves to do their chores until the girl ran away in an attempt to free herself. Or sometimes the mother of said child, if she were pretty, would prostitute the girl as a way to make money for the family. The lands of Westeros were harsh, harsh and full of terrors.

Whatever the arrangement, Gant knew that many folk had secrets, hidden past that they wished no one else to know, his was the same. Was this girl trying to hide something, sure she was. First of all with her face being covered she was either trying to hide what may lay underneath physically, or conceal her identity, Gant was unaware of which. He was eager to see what lay beyond that veil.

"Let me see her face," he requested before allowing the woman inside. The old man looked at him.

"That was not of the fare milord," he said, "the agreement was, that for the information provided, you were to be given this house and an allotment of coin agreeable. You took the _Master of Secret's_ purse, there was no bickering or dispute over the coin involved, also you were in agreement to allow this woman to enter your abode, and that you were to guard and protect her."

The old man stopped, to see if this was in favor of the man he was speaking to, it seemed to be.

"Once she crosses the threshold…she is yours, not to do with what you will, but to see to her sanctuary. She will perform duties in your service, of those duties I was not entrusted to such manner. I only know that it is said that she is a fine cook and her massages alone can curl a man's toes," he looked down to Gant's feet, and then he added…

"….and your toes look as if they could use some curling milord." The snow bearded man then smiled, and progressed with his introduction…

"The _Master of Secrets_ holds the power of influence over many people, you too sir have secrets, secrets that you do not wished exposed. My advice, your willing, is to take in the child, see to her comfort. It may prove to your benefit. And as suggested by me, if of this you are unwilling, then I am to return her back to my place, my toes could use some curling of their own." The old man stopped and grinned.

Gant made motion for the girl to enter. Now it was set, now he had invited her into his house. She had broken the threshold, so she was his, his to entertain and protect.

He made motion that she lift her veil…..

Gant was surprised, not only was this girl fit of body, but she was also pleasant of face, more than pleasant, she was beautiful. He turned and looked at the old man.

"I just saved your life," he said," for this girl, in curling your toes, would have certainly killed the heart of a man so old as yourself."

The two men smiled at one another, and then the door was closed.

END PART 8


	9. Chapter 9

_**A King Disarmed 9**_

"_**Trail of Tears"**_

Author's note: _Heavy are those whose souls were once true, yet are now bartered to the wicked. _

_Shae considers what she's done. Now, standing in front of a man she's just met, she feels as if she is on trial herself, being judged for things she may had done in her past, things that he may not know about, but likely could guess, and would he be wrong?_

_Shae, had just days before spoken words against a man she once knew, a lover, and it brought agony to her eyes to see the pain that soared across his face. If she could, she would have slithered away in shame. However now, what was done was done, and she must learn to live with it_.

_***** When Allies Become Foes *******_

Shae Louvier, or just plain Shae as she preferred to be addressed, stood there for a moment allowing Gant to look at her, inspect her, review her as if she were some prized horse he'd purchased at auction, or some sword cast of fine steel he'd just acquired. However she was use to it, use to men looking at her as other than a person, viewing her as something they owned.

Tyrion had been much the same when she'd first met him, yet the man had more notion of what was in a woman's heart over men twice his size.

She glanced over at Gant, she didn't know what was in his head, but surely, he would find out soon enough that she wasn't here to allow him to do with her what he willed.

"So, your name," the once warrior of Robb Stark's army quested?

"Shae," she said, "Shae louvier."

"…..And Mrs…..Miss Louvier, where do you hail from?"

She looked at him…..

"Somewhere far away," she answered, "both in body and soul."

By her tone, Gant could see that she was a feisty woman, with some fight, so that told him that whoever she had been with before, whomever she had belonged to, may not have been able to control her.

He smiled, and began examining her again.

Somewhat peeved, she waited as his eyes wandered the contours of her body and face, from head to toe. He was a handsome man, she could see, but sometimes handsome men were the worse.

Tyrion had been handsome too, and just the thought of what she'd done to him at trial brought a tear streaming down her cheek. But there had been reasons for what she'd done….reasons as to why she had told what she had told.

Same with Varys, he had spoken words of detriment to the man on trial too, words that were all true. Tales that had not been tainted with lies, and Shae remembered that her once time lover had just stood there, denying none it.

Just the telling of the truth about the youngest Lannister had been enough to execute him in the eyes of the jury, find him guilty in the ridiculous hall they called a court. But when she thought about it, who there, sitting in the stands, or even upon the seats of council, who among them were innocent, guilty of nothing?

The boy Tommen, mayhap King of the Iron Throne in the future, possibly had been the only person present without black stains on his soul, yet he had been excused from the proceedings, Tywin seeing that his grandson's future remain clean, without marks to compromise him in the future. Yet everyone else…..Had they been brought themselves to stand upon the _Quad of Judgment_, well, Shae knew that the whole lot of them could be sharing a cell next to Tyrion, or maybe executed immediately upon exit from the chamber. The whole world was guilty of something and she knew it.

She had been angry with the youngest Lannister, hurt over what he had done, yet that wasn't the full reason why she, she and the bald man, Varys, had done what they had done, there was more to it.

Shae looked over at Gant, he seemingly putting her on trial himself. He had to know that she was hiding from something, still it was her business not his. She didn't like being judged, and she assumed that this may have been what Tyrion was feeling, standing up there on the judgement stand, only tenfold.

_***** A Tattered Rose, yet so Bold *******_

Gant viewed the woman who was here to share his cottage. Sure she had secrets, just as he, so two people having secrets living in the same house, well then, did that made this a _House of Secrets_?

Gant smiled to himself with his little jest. Still in reality, what WAS on his mind moreover, was the secrets that lay beneath the robe she was wearing. Even so, he had been cautioned not to touch her, so this girl retained some value outside of the idea that she no common wench. That was okay, he like wenches, common or not.

Gant noticed the tear running down her cheek, and he was startled.

"Are you hurt? Have you been distressed milady?"

Shae suddenly stifled her emotion. She couldn't recall the last time she had been spoken of as such, _milady_, it had shocked her. She reached up and wiped the tear from her eye.

"I'm fine, I'm just tired," she said.

Gant loved her accent, fact being there was nothing that he didn't like about this girl. He would like to know where she was from, but that could wait. He had been told to take care of her, and that was what he planned to do. Any information that he wished that she would spell could come later. Right now he wished to see to her comfort.

"There is a bed back there, where you may lie down, may I escort you?"

Shae looked over at the man…..

"I am well able of escorting myself, thank you," she said. Her words may have seemed a bit harsh, especially after witnessing the look in the man's eyes. His had actually been an innocent gesture, and Shae had not been sport to many innocent gestures over the past few days.

Making note of being a whore in front of all of Kings Landing's nobility had not favored her a position at the guest-table.

Her admission to the court of her relationship with the Head Judge's son had not gandered her red-carpet treatment. She had been returned to whom she was, and her messages afterwards had gone without response.

Shae felt another tear welling up in her eye, better to excuse herself now, then for him to see her break down.

"My pardon, but I feel that I must rest."

Gant bowed with grace…..a signal showing that he would allow her her space. Shae headed away to find the area he had spoken of and she was thinking, _In the morning they could talk._ Right now she did not want to think about trials or injustice, or who was right, who wrong or even stars in the night sky. All she wanted was sleep.

What Shae was not aware of was that there was more going on in Bodmin than she knew, and there were those burning the night's candles discussing those events at this very hour.

END PART 9


	10. Chapter 10

_**A King Disarmed 10**_

"_**Cersei"**_

Author's note: Cersei, I hate this woman…..but not really. I think that at this point for me to pass judgment on any being (whether fictional or not) is for me to say that I know everything about everybody, and that, I know, is irresponsible.

Are you ready to pass judgment on a woman before you know completely her inner soul? Well I advise you to take a step back. Don't judge unless "_ye be ready to be judged_"…..

Cersei is a woman committed to those born of her womb. However, _let not their fate be determined by man, but by the gods_, and even as such, the Queen of Kings has questions for the gods upon the last breath expelled from her body. She retains_** The Right of Mortals**_, which states that upon death individuals have a right to question our Maker(s) to know the meaning of life and the declaration of the universe. We retain the right to have answers, and answers we shall have. Anyway….

Cersei may be a woman of greed, but greed only of what will come to the babies that have been born to her. She would see to their prosperity and the development of being able to live full lives. She is not a vengeful Queen, unless threatened or her offspring be so. She is more of the idea that motherhood has yet to be presented with limitations, and, although she respects the wishes of her father, and also the one sharing the same womb with her at birth (Jamie), she is also ill of note that they are only men, men that have no idea what it means to be a woman, and those to consider the actual truths of the cosmos.

Cersei is her own goddess…..right or wrong, good, bad or whatever, she places little else above her children, the ones born to her, she would first die before letting any one of them receive harm…and that fact upon which she would lay her own head upon the executioner's block.

_******* Cersei *******_

Cersei looked at the man standing on the _Quad_ who had invaded her life…..yes true; it was none other than her own brother, her younger brother, Tyrion. However, what god proclaimed that a sibling's loyalty be more advanced to his kin than any a peasant on the street?

Of this, the Queen could not recall any a god speaking as such. In fact, the gods of their worship were none other than empty faces caved into stone, or names written onto the Walls of Valeria. Fact being, that if they were real, then they should be considered as treacherous, backstabbing entities, known for their meddling in human affairs, and also their incestuous relationships up in the clouds. So who were they to point judgment on a Queen who wanted her brother's head topping the rampart manner?

Cersei was a woman distressed, a mother who'd lost a child and was looking to get revenge, here to say, a woman blinded by what she conceived to be the truth, no matter what the evidence or consequences.

Tyrion looked over at his sister, a mask of un-abrasiveness upon her face.

"_So true of you sis, that you would convict your own brother without full proof of evidence, evidence which would express to you that you are wrong. Your hatred of me is such that you are willing to execute your own blood rather than actually finding out the full reason behind Joffery's death."_

Tyrion's eyes said it all; he looked upon his sister with eyes of anguish….yet pity. However eyes were only pools, they did not express what lay within the inner recesses of the mind, that dark place, a place which told if someone were a monster.

Cersie was determined to see that payment be made, so much so that she was in a rush….victim or criminal, Tyrion was to pay. His guilt or innocence was not of her concern. She remembered that he had threatened her once, had told her that she would pay for her evil, well, that had been impressed upon her now. Had he made good upon that promise, that threat? Had he had taken her son?

She was of ill concern if Tyrion paid with his head. She didn't care about the consequences. What she did deem paramount was how she was to attain justice. Vengeance, revenge for the soul her son, no matter how evil, wrathful or vengeful it may seem. A life for a life, that was the order.

A life for life, one of which had been taken too early, she hoped to save Joffrey's soul, his spirit, his essence from the damnation of hell, to exalt him into the heavens…..and as quickly as possible, that was her goal.

Her younger brother had been an embarrassment to the family since the day he was born. Her mother having died as of the result of his birth (experiencing his first breath into this world), and she, Cersei, along with her father, had been shamed because of his existence, a blemish to the Lannister name.

Tyrion had been tolerated, his deformity, his behavior, but now here was a chance to extinguish that shame altogether.

Jamie, Cersei's brother, her lover (well, past lover), would do well keeping himself clear of her wrath. She was a river corralled, a river waiting to bust its dam, a flood waiting to forge the floodgates , a torrent wishing to unleash its unbending will….

Odds be it that Tyrion's head would soon be staring down upon her...sitting on a spike on a pole decorating the ramparts of Kings Landing before soon… before the evening sun was set, before the last raises of the afternoon light were casting their shadow across the upper portion of the escarpment.

Cersei was a woman of self-loathing but also of self-adoration. She despised her life and yet loved what she had created. Still, with all this in mind, little was she aware that there was another just like her, a woman of confident mind and of determination to see that her will be focused into reality. Someone who thought she was doing the right thing yet depended on advisement to tell her as such. Little did she know that there was another familiar to her? That there was a woman en-root to the capital. A woman supposedly to be the Queen of Dragons. And what said woman wanted was to rule the empire, and to free any individual from the shackles of bondage.

END PART 10


	11. Chapter 11

_**A King Disarmed 11**_

"_**The Weeping Soul"**_

Author's note: A quick contribution before I have to return to work. Sorry if this chapter feels rushed because in truth, it was, Z

_********__**The Weeping Soul **_****

Shae, she didn't care what was going on in Kings Landing, she didn't care that Tyrion may soon be facing combat with a man twice his size…

Well, that wasn't the whole truth, fact being that in reality, none of it was true.

Shae did care about Tyrion and she deeply cared that he remained living.

She lay upon her pillow, tears soaking the cloth beneath, and she heard the sound of something at the door. She lifted her head to see what had caused her disturbance. There, framed in the doorway was the man she was sharing this cottage with. A man of whom she considered just to be as any other man…..

"What is it, what do you want," she questioned?

Gant looked over at the supple body lying on the bed, so vulnerable, so weak, sure he could have his way, but would the effort be worth the result? Was fighting a woman for her love be worth the combat in the first place? He just stood there.

"I thought that I heard something, I looked in to see to your comfort?"

Shae studied him a second.

"I'm fine," she said. And she watched as Gant hesitated for a second, and then turned and walked away.

Cursed be she, that in all of her life she had had many men, and most of them caring not for her in any manner or regard. Many of whom would have strapped her to a pole and take their way if she proved ill compliant.

Now, be it to her detriment that she would find two men that were gentlemen beyond distinction, and all within a year. Cursed be the gods for their sense of humor, for their fragrant casting of whom they considered within their blessings (those of less than nobility and outside their boundaries).

Shae felt that she may be becoming a frigid woman. A female so cursed that she could not, or would not, allow another man into her bed (whenever it was only speculation that her lover had not shared his very own bed with a girl young enough to be his daughter). She was perplexed.

Another tear rolled its way down her cheek, and expelled itself upon her pillow.

_******* Varys & Shae*******_

Tyrion could see that his sister meant business, and for some reason two allies of his had turned on him.

Varys and Shae….

Even with his keen sense of what was going on in Kings Landing, Tyrion could not have predicted that two of his most trusted allies would become turncoats. He was stunned, still so, he did not wish it to look as if it were a surprise to him.

As phony as it may be, being the child of nobility did suggest that one must always present the upper chin, even if that chin lay upon the chopping block. Placing a façade of un-impression upon his face, Tyrion proceeded to counter Varys' claims. However Varys had spoken none but the truth, so how could he counter?

What actually was happening was that Tyrion's past was coming back to haunt him. If a man was a thief proven ten times, what say he when an eleventh theft pointed it arrow his in his direction?

No, Tyrion would be considered guilty no matter what his defense. Even after his brother (Jamie) told him that he should offer his guilt, and the penalty would be much the lessened.

Tyrion knew that his was a lost cause. Better to go OUT with dignity, rather than assume the pose of a coward. That was the revenge he would get upon his father, the man who'd shunned him and belittled him his entire life. It was the path Tyrion would take….. and also the path that would prove his destiny.

"I INVOKE THE ORDER OF COMBAT!" the youngest Lannister spoke.

The entire congregation fell silent.

END PART 11


	12. Chapter 12

_**A King Disarmed 12**_

"_**And Then There Was None"**_

Author's note: This, the twelfth chapter of "A King Disarmed" story works, and it remains for me an ongoing process. I also hope that it proves interesting…..Thanks for reading, Z.

Players and places of interest in this story work up to this point…..Bodmin, Gantwin Gimbal,Tyrion Lannister, Shae, Tywin Lannister,Varys (the Spider or Master of Whisperers), Cersei Baratheon (Lannister), Vargas (Master of Secrets), Rupert Hearthfield (Lord over Manners Keep in the village of Bodmin), and General Francisco Bowen Hearthfield (Brother to Lord Hearthfield).

_******* Hope, And Then There Was None *******_

Gantwin Gimbal, for a few days had been living the life of an individual who'd leveled up from his former status of "Chamber Purifier" to the elevated rank of _Keep_ security. And for a few mornings Gantwin had been graced with the opportunity to awaken to view the beautiful face (and figure) of someone adorning the bed in the room next to him, a woman, an angel, a person known to him only as Shae.

Shae Louvier was a woman who was sharing the same cottage as Gantwin. A cottage owned by a man known to each of them as Vargas, and in Gantwin's view, Shae held some importance to the "_Master of Secrets"_ being that he, Gant, had been instructed not to lay a hand upon her.

Gantwin _(one of the few survivors, or maybe the last survivor, of "The Red Wedding" or the "Blood Feast", as some called it now), _certainly considered himself as a man blessed, an individual whose life had seemed to have taken a turn for the better. He had been removed from the dungeons under Manners Keep, where he had been given the duties of scrubbing cell walls, and had gained a new position, he had been recruited into the guard of the Keep, the province under Lord Hearthfield rule, and as such he now numbered among the Lord's territorial army, a force so small as such that it considered any in its army as part of the _Manner's_ detailed ward.

Gantwin was not of Rupert Hearthfield's personal guard, but his new position afforded him some bits of comfort. And one of those comforts was being the host of several of the ladies that ventured to the castle during the daytime.

_Bodmin was a village in a poor, rather secluded province; however, it was still under the rule of the King of Westeros, and as such it was due to pay taxes and loyalty tithes to the ruler of Kings Landing. The town's residents did what they could to survive, and this meant in turn, that sometimes the young maidens of the province began wenching themselves out, to provide coin for their families and the like. Lord Hearthfield knew of his obligation to the King, but viewed it with resentment after discovering that he may have some claim to the Iron Throne himself, after the death of the former authority, King Joffrey Baratheon. However, the rumors that Rupert has heard have also been heard by others, and Kings Landing may not be the only area of Westeros that has a bit of the unspeakable to its claim._

Gant had vented some of his _manly_ urges with some of the wenches who frequented the Keep during the sunlit hours, but in the evening time, when he returned to his cottage, his mind always wondered back to the woman who was his housemate, his cottage partner, and true to his promise he had never laid a finger upon her. However, that did not mean that he did not accost Shae by other means, and that was in his brain.

Shae had been his house-mate, and although they had not entered into any agreement other than he was to protect and shield her, and in return she was to have meals ready for him and a hot bath waiting at the end of the day. Gant had kept his promise; he had not touched her, at least with his hands; however his eyes, his eyes had feasted upon her with a desire nearly unquenchable, still he had kept his distance. He studied every curve, every curl, even when placing food within his mouth Gant could not take his eyes off of Shae. She seemed to become more than just a housemate in his mind. His brain was devouring every portion of her, consuming her, he wanted more than just to,…well, be sharing the same home in which Vargas had provided. Gant wanted their relationship to advance to the next level. Still, as with most desires, what is wanted cannot come quickly enough, it lingers as a desire just out of our reach. However, it was only a matter of time before Gant felt that his housemate, this girl that he was beginning to know better, would see him as more than just…..

Was it love? Love is such a vague concept, and who knows what love really is? All that Gant knew was that he was developing a desire for this woman, a desire for Shae, an unquenchable feeling that if he couldn't have her then….he'd go crazy, and what's more is that in time he was of the hope that she would feel the same (?)

Gantwin remember being told that Shae had business to attend to. That she would be gone for a few days and that he could expect her return at some later time. Upon reaching the front door to his cottage, Gant, could see that someone had entered.

_Being the suspicious soul that he was, upon his exit every morning, Gant usually sprinkled the path to his dwelling with a fine litter of soil before he left for duty at Manners Keep. In this regard should someone enter or exit his dwelling then evidence of their movement would be recorded by their footprints in the soil. In this manner he could tell if he should be on his guard or if he could relax. Gant was not a trusting soul, and he never would be. _

This day Gantwin had found that someone had breached the threshold, was it Shae (?), had she returned? The footprints were small enough…but could he trust what he was seeing?

Gantwin entered his abode, still, there was no one within his sight…..however, the dirt tracks make a direct path to Shae's bedroom.

"Shae…?" He called out hoping to hear the sweet tone of her voice. Instead he heard the shuffle of small feet and the pelt of a cane as it struck the floor. In a moment the face of a white bearded man came into view, the same face of which he'd seen the first evening Vargas' minion had brought the fair lady to his door.

"Sorry to disappoint you Sir Gantwin," the bearded man hesitated before continuing, "… or now should I speak of you as solider of the army of Bodmin, and guard of Manners Keep?"

Gant wasn't sure if the comment was made in spirit or in jest, but there was something he wished to know above what the old man proclaimed…..

"Shae, will she be returning soon?"

Gantwin's zeal was undeniable; his question spoke of all that was in his heart. The old man's expression turned from one of being humored, to one of sorrow.

"I am sorry Gant," he spoke, "but Miss Louvier will not be returning to you. Days ago she had been called away by the _Hand-of-the-King_, who, as you know is…or rather was King Joffrey's Grandfather. The Master of Coin has been accused of the boy King's murder, and as such has been put to trial. Tywin Lannister had called the lover of his son, Shae, to testify at trial. The outcome of which...I think you know. He was found guilty, and has chosen to prove his innocent by Way of Combat."

Yes, Gantwin had heard all of this. It had been the main talk of the Keep for days. He looked over to the old man.

"Well, it is to her credit that she would help the Grandfather of the accused defend his son from being found the perpetrator of such a crime."

The old man looked at him wide-eyed, and then his expression turn to one of informant.

"No Mr. Gant," he spoke, "her statements were not used to save Tyrion Lannister," He stopped, "…but to help convict him."

Gantwin's mouth fell open and he was shocked beyond belief.

END PART 12


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